Lament For A Sinner
by Thomas Simpson
Summary: When John Constantine's friend goes missing, presumed dead, the only clue he has to go on is a strange wooden box found at the crime scene. However he will soon learn that some boxes should remain closed and even Hell has some surprises for him.


Came as soon as I heard. Sod it nothing else to do eh? Neighbourhood hasn't changed much. Same shit hole, spawning benefit cheats as it did 30 years ago. Why the fuck couldn't she get out? Suppose I wasn't much help. She was nice enough, too nice that I couldn't give her what she wanted. Always thought that was a good thing, meant she got to live. For a bit longer than most anyway.

None of the neighbours appear to be home. If they are they're lying on the floor chasing the dragon while the poor baby cries in the corner. Except there's no sound. Maybe I am alone here. No difference there John old boy.

The door's been booted in. Looks like the local kiddies have been looking for pocket money. Place is deserted and there's a foul stench in the air. No carpet, broken windows, no furniture. I'll wager it wasn't much different from this before she disappeared. But where the hell did you go to Lindsay? What the hell did you get caught up in? I can see marks on the floor, something has cut into it. Could be fingernails. Mind it'd have to be something pretty terrifying pulling you to dig in that much. What the hell happened to you Lindsay? What the fuck came for you? Got a tip off from a guy who owes me a favour at Scotland Yard. Says you've went missing, presumed dead. Figured I might want to have a nosy being that you're an old mate and their heads are so up their arse they don't have a clue what happened. But what the fuck did you get caught up in here? There's something in the air but it's not magic, least none that's familiar. Something came for you didn't it love? But why the hell would you summon it? Aye aye, what's this then? Was this what you used, this box. Certainly has a strange aura but what the fuck do I know? I do know that a box is of no value unless there's something in it. And judging by the state of this place if there's anything left of you it's in here. Something stinks here, and it's not of coincidence. Looks like someone's made a move, question is when do I make mine.

I sit and ponder. Fucking clueless more like. In all this time never seen anything like it. A poncey little wooden box with brass etchings. No way inside by the looks of it, but fucked if I'm going to try too hard. Not until I know what it is I'm dealing with. Time to consult the old books I think. Shame I burnt them all. Fuck it, I'll just ask about. Let others do the legwork. Maybe it can be their problem instead of mine. But it is yours you daft bastard. It's always yours. And it's always personal, why should this be any different?

I visit an old friend down in Camden. Boy by the name of Clayden. Bit of an idiot, truth be told however he knows shit loads about stuff like this. Don't get me wrong, I'm hardly a novice, but to be honest I've no clue as to what this box is. Maybe I've been out the game too long, or maybe I'm just a dinosaur. Maybe I need this to get back in. Shit listen to me, "get back in." Just what I need. Cheers Lindsay.

Clayden owns a record shop in Camden. It's just off the market and a right dump, to this day I've no idea how he keeps it open, he never was any good at magic but the boy knows a shit load about it. Not as much as he does vinyl though. Strewth, he'll bore the bloody bollocks off me. Suck it up, it's time I said hello. I walk through the door and there he stands. Head down in some text. On closer inspection the literature appears to be "Asian Housewives," I startle him. "Alright squire?"

"Bloody hell, John?" He has long hair but is balding badly. He's put on some weight since I've seen him. Looks like time caught up with him.

"Hello Clayden, busy?"

"What the fuck brings you here?" he looks a little embarrassed, but not so that he throws it to the side. I take a peek.

"Well well squire. Here's me thinking this was a family establishment?"

"Give us a break eh mate? Not like I get much in the way of business is it?"

"No wonder, the place is a shit hole, plus do you even have anything of worth?"

"Oh fuck off John, if you're here to take the piss just do one."

I've hurt his feelings obviously. Even feel a little bad, well, maybe. "Look you bleeding ponce, this isn't a social call. I want you to have a look at something." I remove the box from my coat pocket, carefully. I place it on the glass counter and study Clayden's face. It's not what I expected.

"What?" he says less than impressed. This isn't the best sign I could've hoped for.

"I was hoping you could give me a little info on it."

"In what way?" Christ, give me strength. His knowledge in magic matched only by his density.

"This isn't no piggy bank Clayden. There's some serious dark shite connected with this bit of wood, I thought you might recognise it. Obviously I was wrong."

"Now now, give us a minute Christ John, I've barely had a butcher's. What do you know about it, where did you get it?"

"Nothing. These markings…never seen them before. Might be fuck all to be honest but I doubt it. Been around enough bad shit to know evil when I see it."

"Now lets not be hasty, what makes you think it's evil? Where did you get it?"

"Don't you worry about that squire, what I want to know is can you dig up some info on it? Soon as, you know?"

"I can try. Not sure where to start mind, but I'll give it a shot. I'll have to keep a hold of it though. Memory's gone mate, too much grass."

"Alright then. I'll come back in tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? Give us a friggin…"

"Clayden," I have to interrupt, he'll go on an bleeding on. "I know you can have ___something _for me tomorrow. Don't be a prick."

"Fair enough John, bloody hell. I can keep a hold of it though?"

"I'll be back tomorrow morning at eleven. And Clayden I swear if you've sold that box to some idiot claiming it was once used by Lennon as a stash box, I'll make that acid trip you had in '83 seem like a wet dream. Right?"

"Sure John, no bother right? I'll help you out. Guess you'll owe me one eh?"

"No Clayden," I light up a smoke and head for the exit. "But we might be even."

I can't trust Clayden unfortunately. Could see it in his eyes he was lying. You can't con a con man, he knew what that box was. Couldn't wait to get rid of me when he realised I'd let him have it. Give the mouse his cheese. I've no patience for this any more. One last favour for an old friend then back to the shadows. Always brighter there. I sit in the boozer across from Clayden's shop and sink a couple. It's only been twenty minutes since I've left the shop and already he's packing up for the night. Strewth mate, what the hell is that box?

I wait for night to fall and try not to get too pissed before I walk back over to the shop. I sneak round the back, making as much noise as possible thanks to gin. Fuck John, days you could drink Sid Vicious under the table and still stop home for a pint on the way home. Seems a long time ago now. Fuck it, focus. Back door, here we go. I'm half surprised to find it open. Then again Clayden always was a bit of an idiot. I stumble about the shop, fuck it I call out to him, "Clayden," no answer. "Clayden, fucking…where are you?," nothing. If he'd done a runner out the door I just came through I'll feed that boy to the worms. I walk into an adjoining room. It's full of old books and records. Must be Clayden's private stash. I fumble for the light switch. The light flickers before illuminating the room. "Oh Clayden." It's just like Lindsay's house. Blood and pieces of flesh decorate the room, the stench mixing badly with a belly of gin. The box sits on the floor, gleaming. What the hell is this thing? I walk around with it in my pocket without incident, poor old Clayden has a fumble and he's soup. I look for clues, me the bloody great detective. Luckily Clayden's left a few. Some books are lying open and there are drawings of the box. Looks like we might be getting somewhere after all. Ah well, I've fucking sobered up a bit. May as well take a peek.

The books are hardly the most reliable. They're full of misinformation about voodoo and black magic, written in bad Latin to fabricate authenticity. Bloody amateurs, I expected better than Clayden than to keep this crap. In truth there isn't really much on the box. Apparently it's named after some French geezer, ___Lemarchand_. That and it's some kind of key? Door? Key door? Strewth who wrote this, a five year old? Ah here we go. ___The box is the key which opens the Doorway to unknown pleasure._ Clayden I hope you never decided to go ahead and open that door based on this information. Looking for Heaven and knock on the wrong door? How bout you Lindsay, did you get the wrong idea? So there's a door then eh? Maybe it's the gin talking but perhaps it's time I get my foot ___in_ this door. I don't know what I'm opening here, but this isn't no back street hustler you're dealing with. This is John _fucking_ Constantine, the man who's saved the world numerous times, the man who told the devil to go fuck himself. The jammy bastard that has ridden his luck for way too long. One last hurrah eh? Never could resist a little mischief. I pick up the box and put it in my pocket. I light a cig and start to head up the road. My prints will be all over the place but I'll deal with that later. Not like the police have a body to link me with poor old Clayden. I really am sorry mate. I'll find out what did this to you, and you too Lindsay. And I'll kick it's fucking head in.

Takes me all day to get the supplies. Costs a fair packet too. Had to cash in some favours, even owe a few now. Fucking stressed from travelling the tube. Could've asked Chas, he'd have drove me about. Couldn't do it though. Not this time. Keep him out of it. Didn't tell anyone what I was up to. ___Small conjuring spell._ Can't put them in danger, the seductive power of this box is too strong. I've felt some dark mojo in my time, even been to Hell. But this…at least in Hell I knew what to expect.

I spend all night making the preparations. Some of the spells are simple enough. Others require a little more concentration, and plenty of fags. Draw some sigils here and there, can't miss a trick. One mistake and what ever is coming out of that box is going to turn me into mush. I light up another silk cut and sit within a circle of sulphur. I roll up my sleeves and pick up the box.

How longs it fucking been? I've been at this bollocking thing for hours. I'm fucking starving. No, can't stop now. It'll fuck up all my planning. Persevere. Persevere.

Still nothing. How longs it been? So hungry, so tired. I should forget it. Try again tomorrow. Is it tomorrow? How long have I been here? How did Clayden succeed so quickly?

I feel like I'm blacking out. Maybe I have, did, who knows what the fuck.

No, fuck it. Fuck you. Fuck you you piece of shit. You wont beat me. Try to break me, try to weaken me. Wont work. You will open, I need it. I desire nothing else and you will open to me.

A clicking noise. Followed by a whirring sound. The box begins to change in my hands. Compartments move, change place. The candles flicker, the room grows cold. It's coming. Shit, what was I to do? I'm so weak. Clever bastard. The blood. Fuck. I take the knife in my back pocket and cut my hand quickly, sprinkling my blood onto the sulphur. This better fucking work. I struggle to my feet as the wall opens up. I see a silhouette. A figure, 'bout my height maybe taller. It walks into the candle light, though it's the eerie blue light behind him that illuminates him. Dressed in leather, and ready to party judging by the blades dangling from his waist. Creepy looking bastard. And that's not including the nails in his head. "John Constantine…at last," he says. His voice terrifies me. All this magic bollocks better work. Showtime John boy. Can fucking barely light my fag for shaking.

I barley manage to get the bloody fag lit. The bastard's just standing there, smiling. What did he mean at last? Who the hell is he? Guess there's only one way to find out. "So you know who I am," I tell him and take a deep draw, "But so does every two-bit demon. Thing is, I've no idea who you are?." I blow the smoke in his direction, waiting for his response.

"I am the face of your desire," he replied, "the desire that exists deep within you. You wanted me, and I have come."

"Just like that? Took your time though. Didn't waste as much time with Clayden." Use what you know.

"Clayden was a means to an end John, you know that. You used him, so did I."

"What about Lindsay, was she just a way of getting to me?" Compose yourself son, don't wear your heart on your sleeve.

"She had nothing to offer anyone, or so _she_ thought. She turned to the darkness and gave herself to it. She was rewarded in kind."

"Looked that way. I'm pretty sure she didn't ask to be ripped to shreds from a demon with a leather fetish." That smug grin is fading from his face. Good I'm getting to him.

"You dare Constantine. You dare mock ___me."_

"Sorry pal," I light up another ciggie, "I thought you said you were familiar with me. I've stood face to face with God's and told them to fuck off. Even glassed the First of the Fallen for a giggle. But you…I've never even heard of you. What low level of Hell must you have crawled from that ___I _ain't even heard of you? You a rookie upstart or some old geezer been let off the leash after a millennia? And what's with the box deal, you some kind of genie?" That done it. Chains with hooks dart for my face. I don't even flinch as they fail to touch me. Magic and balls. Perfect combo.

"I know of you Constantine," he replies "I also know of your nine lives, yes you are quite the legend in your own head. You believe you know all there is to Hell. You are nothing Constantine. Nothing but a speck of dust being blown in the wind. If you wish to know more of Hell then simply come with me Constantine. I'll do more than _show_ you."

"I'll pass if it's all the same squire. Quite a busy week." He starts to laugh. Never a good sign.

"You are confused John. You believe there is a choice here. Your primitive magic may protect you but you cant hide forever. You opened the box, I have come forth. I cannot leave without taking you back."

"Ah the good old rules eh? What if I tell you to fuck off?"

"It is irrelevant what you say. What you do. Your whole life has lead you to this moment. Perfect order in a chaotic existence. This is your fate, accept it and let it be over with."

"Tell you what," I drop the butt and light up another. "You tell me what happened to Lindsay. Then we can see what we can do about this predicament."

"Procrastination, nothing more than a pathetic attempt to delay the inevitable. You are tired John. Let it end. Step from the circle."

"Tell me what happened to Lindsay." I'm getting angry, doing all I can to not raise my voice. This fuckers feeding off my emotion. Can't show too much. "Tell me."

"Tell you? No. I can do so much more than that."

The room begins to cloud as my nerve goes. Everything's changing, we're transporting? No. haven't left the circle. We're still in my pad. Doesn't look like mine though, looks like… Bastard. He's showing me what I want to know. What I've wanted to know since this mess started. This is Lindsay's house. I can see her on the floor. Poor kid, she looks like shit. She has the box in her hand. How long's she been there? I'm tempted to scream at her, get her to put it the fuck down but will she even hear me? Course not you soft cunt. Don't show any more weakness than you already are. The lights begin to dim. The box is making noises, the scene's already too familiar. Hooks have ripped into her face and start to tear at the flesh. My composure is failing me, I try to close my eyes but I can't help but watch as the skin is stripped from her face. Her screams are piercing, the attack merciless as more and more hooks shred her. She tries to run, but she's got no fucking chance. The hooks spin her round, facing her towards a doorway. I can make out the silhouette of that bastard with the nails in his head. He's staring at her, but somehow at me. He's laughing. Laughing? I'll get you, you bastard. I'll wipe that smile from your face. You hear me? "I'll fucking kill you!"

The apartment starts to look like mine again. I fall to my knees drenched in sweat. That took a lot out of me, seeing her like that. Seeing what he's capable of. What he can do to me. What he ___will _do to me unless I can fucking think fast. He's right, I can't stay in this circle forever. I'll die eventually and then what? I doubt I've a guest pass for the pearly gates.

"Now Constantine, do you understand?" he asks. What's there to understand, that I'm well and truly fucked?

"You're a sick fuck, and twisted," I tell him. "You talk about your rules and desires. Who in their right minds going to desire that?"

"You for one John." That voice. No, for fuck sake no. Lindsay, what the hell. Her cheeks have been sliced, left hanging from her face and sowed to her neck. I look into those eyes. It's her, it's not a fucking trick it's her.

"Lindsay," I barely utter. "Why?"

"Why not?" she answers. "I was happy to self destruct John. I'd been addicted to drugs for years. The pleasure brought with it much pain, but it was worth it. I was offered the chance to enhance those experiences. Why wouldn't I?"

She sounds so blissful. She can't be finally at peace, not like this. Can she?

"Love I'm sorry." It's all I can say.

"Don't be," she interrupts. Her tone is sincere. "We are similar John, we always have been. It's why we have been sought out. You live in perpetual torment John. I can feel it. Let me free you. Step from the circle and join me. Forever we can be as one, learning the exquisite pleasures of the flesh."

"What about Clayden? How's he enjoying his reward?"

She pauses. The smile fades slightly from her lips. "I learned much from Clayden. What makes him bleed. What part of the body he treasures the most before I cut it from him."

"So poor old Clayden got a raw deal then?" I think I'm beginning to get the picture here. Have to stall a little.

"He got what he deserved. As have I. And as will you John. You opened the box, you want this. You need this."

"Sorry love," I interject. "Something about the pain side, not really my thing. Sharp hooks, cutting me open? Think I'll pass if you don't mind." I've riled her, I can see it. She got sure of herself, thought she could seduce me. Maybe at one time dressed in leather.

"Constantine, you impudent child," now the big man's wading back in, "You will come with us. The longer you delay the more you will beg to die."

"Maybe you should work on your pitch. See, what I'm getting promised here is a pleasure indistinguishable from pain, that right? Thing is though, it's the pain part I'm having trouble with. I may live with a lot of pain, you're right about that Lindsay, no doubt about it. But it's all up here, in my head. Nothing physical about it. And they may say that physical pain is nothing compared to mental anguish. Maybe they're right. Either way, I've learned to live with the demons in my head. Even learned to live with the ones I bump into in the street from time to time. But I'll tell you one thing without charge. I'll be fucked if I'm going to learn to live with the ones that enjoy cutting me up." Ha, the look on his face. Fucking Muppet. He's not too sure of himself now. Suddenly my confidence has increased. Even fancy a fag now. Hand's a lot steadier as I light it. Ah that tastes good. I smile at the prick. Who needs to go to Hell to feel this good?

"Your superciliousness to the situation is not overly surprising John," speaks the demon, his voice calmer now. "I do admit, that I am curious as to how you propose to avoid your fate. The situation is exceedingly straightforward. You called us. We came, your end is unavoidable. Retain some dignity and take my hand."

Extending his hand towards me I wonder how many times people have took it. I'm not sure what level of hell this thing comes from, then again it is a big place. Is he an ancient demon, or something new? I could find out those answers, but at what cost? Could I escape if I played along and took a ride? I'm not afraid of a little pain am I? Screw that. And screw him. I look down at the box, nesting comfortably within my safe little circle. The demon follows my gaze to it. Looking straight into my eyes I think the penny's just dropped for him. I bend down to pick it up, waving it, taunting him with it. "Thing is squire, I may not know much about you or what you are. But you didn't honestly think I'm going to summon a demon without knowing how to get rid of it am I? Not in my advancing years at least."

"Give me that box Constantine, and I swear it will be quick." He threatens me, and he means it. Yet there's something empty about it when he's got shit to bargain with. And he knows it.

"You drive a hard bargain, really I'm tempted. But, I'm thinking more along the lines of using this key here to slam the door on your pin cushion arse."

"You dare return me without what is mine, and I swear that I will make sure she suffers so, that her screams will echo for eternity. And that's not forgetting your friend Clayden, oh the plans I have for him. How many more of your friends must suffer so that you must prosper?"

The bastard grins. Lindsay looks at me, hopeful that I may take the bait. It's his last roll of the dice, we're all aware of the situation. I look into Lindsay's eyes. I'm sorry love. But I can't save you. You were damned long ago. I know that however much that looks like you, it's not you. You're dead and in hell. I can't change that.

"Thing is demon," I say, "you claim to know me. You're very sure of that fact. Still…if you ___really _knew me. You'd know I'm a selfish bastard." The words cut him deep, I can see it in his eyes. I twist frantically, but carefully at the box. The parts move with ease. I know the box now, it knows me. The door's going to be a lot easier to close than it was to open. The thing representing Lindsay begins to panic. She also begins to fade, as does her boss. He's screaming at me but I can't hear him. I'm lost in the box, it's consuming all my focus. A storm erupts within the room, it's ferocity increasing as the door closes more and more. Suddenly, the storm is over. I glance around the room, taking it in for the first time in days. I stare at the box, it's gripped so tightly in my hand my knuckles are white. A hunger washes over me, as well as thirst. Staring at the ring of sulphur, I hesitate, before stepping over it. I place the box on the kitchen counter before putting my jacket on. The clock reads ___7.57. _Looks like a fry up is on the menu.

The bacon isn't the best, but it beats the alternative I was offered with earlier. I try to block images of Lindsay from my mind. The twisted look in her eyes also revealed fear. And pain. Much pain. It's only replaced by the look of that smug bastard with the nails in his head. I'll find out more about you one day mate. And when I do, I'll make sure I send you somewhere that no box can bring you back from. First off though, suppose I better do something bout the box. Clayden showed how easy it can be opened if you want it bad enough. Can't have it lying about now can we? Don't imagine it being too easy to destroy either though. Could always lob it in the Thames. Or maybe I should keep my old friends and new enemies close. I pat the inside pocket of my coat feeling the box. I envision it opening, demons coming forth, hooks ripping at my face. Sod that. Thames it is then.


End file.
